


The Suitcase

by stargatefan_archivist



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-06-26
Updated: 2005-06-26
Packaged: 2018-12-17 17:00:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11855883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stargatefan_archivist/pseuds/stargatefan_archivist
Summary: Daniel has had one constant companion over the years





	The Suitcase

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Yuma, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [Stargatefan.com](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Stargatefan.com). To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [StargateFan Archive Collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/StargateFan_Archive_Collection).

The Suitcase

There comes a time when we have outlived our usefulness. We become worn and battered, and we expect the quiet days that is our reward. We welcome the obscurity that marks the end of our labors. Perhaps it is different for you people, but for a suitcase like me, to be stored away, forgotten, was the best thing that had ever happened to me.

So imagine my irritation when Katie O’Donnell dragged me out of the closet where I’d expected to spend the rest of my well-earned retirement. She plopped me on a bed, dislodging a layer of dust. The cloth she swiped over me removed another layer.

Katie eyed me critically. I suspect she was disappointed, and who could blame her? I had long since gone out of style. My exterior was a hard plastic, designed like tweed and held together by cracking vinyl edging. My latches worked only if handled in a precise manner. The lining of my interior was torn and fraying. She sighed as she looked at me, and had I a mouth, I would have sighed with her. I had never expected to be pressed into service again. Stick me back in the closet, I wanted to tell her. Get out one of those bright pink, modern travel bags. You don’t have to use an old-timer like me.

But, of course, she couldn’t hear me. That’s the trouble with the whole lacking-vocal-chords thing.

A boy came into the room, carrying a stack of neatly-folded clothing, which cleared up the mystery on why she’d chosen me over the horrendously pink bags of her college days. He was eight or nine, with thick, sun-bleached hair. Glasses hid shy, blue eyes. His skin bore a hint of a tan, as if the boy had spent some time in the sun but the effects were fading.

“Sure and it’s an ugly thing,” Katie said with a wave of a hand toward me.

No need to rub it in, I thought.

The boy set the clothing on the bed and examined me. I expected a roll of the eyes or a “You’ve got to be kidding me” or something similar. Kids these days have no respect. But, no. This boy was different. His fingers traced the tweed lines, smoothed over cracks, toyed with the latches. I wasn’t a run-down piece of junk to him. I was a precious object, worthy of attention.

Katie, my dear, this one’s a keeper.

“It has character, Katie. I like old things.” The boy smiled, first at me and then at Katie. It was an odd smile. The boy’s lips were hesitant as if they’d forgotten how to work and were still relearning the way to smile.

“Ah, Daniel, you always was a fine one for looking past the filth to see the treasure beneath.”

The boy Daniel gave another of his stiff, odd smiles and set to work opening me. He was patient for a boy his age, methodically jiggling the latches into different positions until he’d figured out how to line them up. After he’d opened me, Katie dusted my interior and placed the stack of clothing within. Daniel made two more trips, returning once with additional clothing and the last time with two leather-bound journals and a postcard-size wooden box. These three items, he placed inside me himself, handling them reverently. His fingers lingered over the box and finally moved away with reluctance.

“Wait,” Katie said when Daniel started to close me. She reached into her pocket and drew out a photo, which she handed to Daniel. “For you, _muirnín_. I wish we had time to have one taken with you.”

The photo showed three people, Katie and her husband and their toddler. Daniel blinked hard as he touched the smiling faces in the photo.

“It’s perfect, Katie. Thanks.”

He opened the wooden box. I had a glimpse of another photo, a young couple in front of a pyramid, before he slid Katie’s photo inside and replaced the box’s lid. My latches locked with a click as he closed me.

“I wish I didn’t have to go,” Daniel said in a low voice. He was focusing on me so he didn’t see Katie blink back tears. So, not a keeper? I wondered what was up with that. He seemed like a nice enough kid.

She brushed a hand over his hair. “Sure and I don’t want you to leave, _muirnín_ , but I told you from the start we could only be temporary foster parents. Just until we found your grandfather.”

“Like that did a lot of good,” Daniel said with the bitter hurt of one who had been betrayed. It was a terrible sound to hear from one so young. You know, I happen to be an excellent judge of character, and I can tell without meeting him that this grandfather is a disreputable, worthless, pathetic piece of…

What?! I’m just telling it like it is.

Katie, being a well-brought up lass, said nothing, though I’m quite sure she was thinking the same thing. She brought her hand down to the back of Daniel’s head and gently ruffled his hair.

“Katie, will I ever--” He broke off. Before he turned his face away, I noticed the glint of tears.

“Now you listen to me, Dannyboy.” Katie’s hand slid to his neck and gave a gentle squeeze while her other hand tipped Daniel’s chin upward so they were looking at each other. “You will find your perfect home. You will find a family who loves you. It may be tomorrow or it may be a few years, but it _will_ come. Don’t you be forgetting that, _muirnín_.”

It had the ring of prophecy. Rumor among the luggage says Katie’s great-granny had the Sight. The hatboxes, being the gossipy old biddies that they are, blather on about Katie’s granny and mother showing signs of the same. Maybe it passes from generation to generation, as they say. More likely, it’s utter nonsense. But I hoped, for Daniel’s sake, that it was true.

It looked like Daniel and I were in for the long haul, so I tried to learn what I could about him while his caseworker, Miss Ridge, drove him to a new foster home. Daniel wasn’t an easy nut to crack. He hardly spoke a word, though Miss Ridge tried her best to engage him in conversation. Finally, she mentioned something about Egypt, and you should have seen the boy’s face light up. He talked nonstop for the rest of the trip. Obviously, the trick was to find a subject that sparked Daniel’s interest and passion.

It was just as obvious, during the first fifteen minutes with Daniel’s new foster family, it wasn’t the perfect home Katie had in mind. At least, not perfect in the “right for Daniel” sense. It wasn’t perfect for _any_ boy of my acquaintance. The place was immaculate. I felt grubbier than ever, and I noticed that Daniel’s hands were sweating as he lugged me up the stairs.

Mrs. Morris pointed out the “do-not-use-just-for-display” bathroom towels and made a tiny readjustment to a picture frame. Then we came to Daniel’s bedroom, and I about flipped my latches.

This wasn’t a child’s bedroom. It was a museum. Everything was pristine and white with fragile knick-knacks on the dresser and night stand. Daniel wouldn’t be able to move without worrying that he’d break something. Worse, nothing in the room spoke of permanency. It screamed “guest.”

Daniel, being the mild-mannered sort, only said, “It’s very nice, Mrs. Morris. Thank you.”

Mrs. Morris shifted—nervously, I thought—and smoothed the already-smooth bedspread. So I gave her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she wasn’t used to kids. Maybe she just needed some help. Even in a hotel, you get to make demands, boyo. Tell her you want one of those newfangled arcade gizmos or a train set. Something. Anything.

But Daniel didn’t ask, and Mrs. Morris didn’t offer.

“Supper’s at six,” Mrs. Morris said finally and left.

What good are the freaking vocal chords if you don’t freaking use them?!?!

Daniel manhandled me up onto the bed, rumpling the bedspread. I hoped I wasn’t shedding dust or anything that would get Daniel into trouble. He patiently jiggled my latches open and then transferred his clothing to the dresser. The journals stayed inside me. The box was lifted out carefully. He opened it and touched Katie’s photo with a hint of a smile. But he bypassed it for the other photo, the pyramid-couple. He lifted the photo out and stared at it, as if memorizing the faces.

When he spoke a few moments later, his voice was husky. “Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad. It’s me, D-Da—Dan--”

He folded inward, curled around the photo he clutched close to his heart. He sank to the floor, out of my sight. I could still hear him. He gave a soft, keening wail. His cry was so soul-deep that I wanted to shiver. Then he began to sob. He muffled the sound against the bedspread.

He cried a long time.

When the tears were spent, he rose, set the photo in the box, and used tissues to blow his nose and wipe his reddened face. The box went back inside me, and I thought how lucky I was to hold such a valuable item. Daniel locked me and hauled me off the bed to the closet.

#

Months passed. I couldn’t say how many. We suitcases don’t measure time the way you people do. For us, it’s no trouble at all to spend years with nothing to do except await the time when we’re needed again. In that time, Daniel opened me three times, once to add another journal to the two I already held and twice to look quietly at his parents’ photo. He looked well enough, though he seemed settled into a neutral mode untouched by either joy or sorrow.

Sometimes I overheard things. Eavesdropping is a time-honored tradition among suitcases. Vera Morris and her husband would discuss Daniel, usually late at night, after the boy had gone to bed. Their voices carried easily from the living room, and I wondered how much Daniel himself overheard. He wasn’t the best of sleepers, I’d noticed. Nightmares woke him at odd hours, though he hardly ever cried out and never went to anyone for comfort. It was at times like this that I saw the bob of a flashlight and heard the scratching of his pen across the journal pages.

Brian Morris had not wanted Daniel. Children were, at best, an inconvenience and at worst, a pain in the… Well, you get the picture. They were noisy, underfoot, and a drain on the budget. Vera championed Daniel endlessly. He was quiet. He picked up after himself. He was polite. You hardly realized he was there. The state paid for his upkeep. He wasn’t a bother.

God, how I wanted to tell that lady off! Of course, he wasn’t a bother. She’d practically rendered the poor kid invisible. In her quest to make him unnoticeable to her husband, the perfect child to fit her perfect house, she couldn’t see how desperately Daniel needed someone to notice him.

Even Daniel couldn’t stay overlooked forever. I heard Daniel’s footsteps on the stairs one night, strangely heavy, and Brian’s voice calling, “I’m not shelling out for any hospital, you hear me?”

Vera’s harassed voice answered, “It’s just a bug. Children get them. I’m sure he’ll be all better by morning.” Then her footsteps followed Daniel’s.

I saw them both through a crack in the closet doors. Daniel was pale, his hair matted with sweat. His movements were slow and uncertain. Vera helped him into pajamas and then into bed. He closed his eyes, looking utterly wiped. Vera smoothed his sweat-tousled hair. The woman didn’t know the first thing about motherhood, but she tried. She gave him an anxious smile.

“You’ll be fine in the morning, won’t you, Daniel?”

He nodded wearily and whispered, “Yes, Mrs. Morris.”

“Are you going to throw up again? Should I get you a bucket?”

He started to shake his head, stopped as if the action pained him, and said, “No, thank you. I’ll be fine.”

“Call if you need me.”

Like that’s going to happen, I thought.

One corner of Daniel’s mouth lifted into a sort of reassuring smile. Then he rolled to his side. Vera patted his shoulder and tiptoed out of the bedroom.

He might have slept. He was quiet for a long time, except for his raspy breathing. Vera checked on him once, a quick peek into the room without approaching the bed. Then she and Brian went to their own room, and the house was silent.

Sometime later, Daniel stumbled out of bed. I heard him vomit into a wastebasket, but if anyone else heard, they didn’t come. He caught his breath in hiccupy gasps, opened the closet, and crawled inside. He tugged one of the musty afghans out of the corner and pulled it around his shivering body. Huddling against me, he dragged the afghan closer, hugging his arms across his chest to hold the blanket in place.

“I’m fine,” he said quietly. “It’s nothing. It’ll go away. I’m fine.”

He shook with cold, his teeth chattering, but sweat dribbled off his forehead and onto me. He began to cough and turned his head to muffle it in the afghan. It seemed like the coughing went on forever. When it calmed, Daniel sagged against me, breathing in gulps of air that rattled in his lungs. A lone tear slithered down his cheek.

“You’re fine, Daniel,” he told himself in a firm, no-nonsense tone. “If you’re a nuisance, they’ll send you away. So you have to be fine. Remember how scared you were in that tomb the first time? Remember what Daddy told you? Take slow, deep breaths. Blow your fears away.”

His slow, deep breaths were broken intermittently by spasms of coughing, but they relaxed him. Gradually, he slumped into a fitful sleep. The congestion in his lungs seemed to grow worse as night became morning. I didn’t like it, but what could I do?

In the morning, Vera came in, saw the disheveled but empty bed, and called for Daniel. He staggered out of the closet just as she tracked down the sick odor.

“I’m sorry about the wastebasket, Mrs. Morris,” he said, still hugging the afghan around his shoulders. “But you were right. I’m fine now.”

Even she recognized the lie when it was accompanied by the parody of a huge, never-before-seen smile. She stepped closer and tried to touch his forehead. He skipped backward, out of her reach.

“I’m fine. Really. You don’t have to worry about me. I’m fine.”

“Daniel--”

Brian hollered from the bottom of the stairs, “Stop badgering the boy, Vera! If he says he’s fine, then he’s fine. Where’s breakfast?”

“I have to get ready for school,” Daniel said, but he watched Vera warily until she had left the room. Then he collapsed onto his bed and smothered a bout of hacking coughs into a pillow.

I know I said that a suitcase doesn’t pay attention to time, but let me tell you, when Daniel didn’t return from school that afternoon, I worried. Two freaking days went by before his caseworker arrived. She accompanied Vera to Daniel’s bedroom and watched in silence while Vera murmured countless apologies and repacked me. I was turned over to Miss Ridge and never saw the perfect Morris house again.

I might never have found out what happened to Daniel if Miss Ridge hadn’t taken me inside when she met with Daniel’s new foster family, the Scapanellis. Tom and Bella Scapanelli listened carefully while Miss Ridge explained that the school had called an ambulance when Daniel’s congestion prevented him from breathing. The hospital was treating him for pneumonia, which the doctor feared might develop into a lifelong difficulty with asthma or allergies. The doctor had also said the asthma complication could have been prevented if Daniel’s symptoms had been treated at an earlier stage. It was likely his fever was high most of the night, and if Vera had bothered to check it, she would have realized he needed immediate medical attention. Because Brian had refused to pay any of Daniel’s hospital bills and Vera had admitted that she had never checked Daniel’s temperature even though she knew he had a fever, Miss Ridge had determined the Morrises were unsuitable foster parents. Well, duh.

So Daniel moved in with the Scapanellis. It wasn’t his perfect home either. Don’t get me wrong. The Scapanellis were great people with an abundance of love. But their love, effusive though it was, had to spread through a family of six other children. Most of the time, Daniel got lost in the shuffle, still invisible. Because he didn’t complain the way his foster-siblings did, I don’t think Tom or Bella knew that Daniel’s classmates teased him because of his glasses, his asthma attacks, his secondhand clothes, and his inclination toward study and book-reading. The teasing sometimes became bullying, but Daniel hid any injuries that resulted because he was convinced he would be sent away if he wasn’t “fine.”

Since Daniel shared a room with two boys, he would sneak into the closet late at night after they were asleep so he could write in his journal by the light of a flashlight. Occasionally he muttered during his writing, and I eavesdropped. Somebody had to. Those journals knew more about his life than anyone else.

#

Again, months passed. Daniel’s asthma worsened. I didn’t need any high-faluting degree to realize it was a psychological plea for attention. Daniel could have been a ghost, drifting through the Scapanelli house. Whenever he received special notice, it was a reward for good behavior or good grades. The gift of a new book or journal only reinforced the idea that the Scapanellis preferred someone who was quiet and studious. It was Catch-22. The Scapanellis were thrilled with Daniel’s intelligence and encouraged his interests. Daniel did everything he could to be the type of boy he thought the Scapanellis wanted.

Given time, I think the Scapanellis might have recognized Daniel’s desperate attempts to belong by filling the role they had inadvertently created for him, but time wasn’t on their side. One night shortly after the school year ended, I found myself being repacked. Bella had pressed a second suitcase into service for Daniel’s clothes, but his precious items, the box and the journals and a few well-read books, went into me.

“You understand, don’t you, Daniel?” Bella asked as she folded hand-me-down shirts and jeans. “We can’t take you out of New York without adopting you. We tried to get permission.”

Daniel nodded gravely. “But you can’t because Nick won’t let anyone adopt me.”

“He’s your grandpa. Your family. I’m sure he wants you to live with him as soon as you’re older.”

I had my doubts about that. The journals are a pretty tight-lipped bunch, but I’d managed to pester them into telling me the story of Nick, the grandfather who refused to be called that. He was apparently too busy with his great discoveries as an archaeologist to take care of his daughter’s only child but also too stubborn to release Daniel to a permanent adoption with another family. Have I mentioned that the man is an unprincipled, irresponsible son of a—fine, I won’t say it, but it’s still true.

“This job in Texas is just too good for Tom to pass up,” Bella said.

“I know. Work is important.”

If there was a sliver of resentment in Daniel’s voice, Bella didn’t hear it. She embraced him, which Daniel tolerated but returned stiffly. Like his smiles, his ability to hug someone else had become a stilted effort.

After Bella left, Daniel ran his fingers along a crack in my vinyl and whispered, “The work is always more important than me.”

He sighed, closed my latches, and hefted me and my fellow suitcase off the bed. The next morning, Miss Ridge took Daniel to stay with the Jamesons.

The Jamesons were a nightmare. Literally. Matt Jameson was a moody drunk whose abusive tendencies surfaced in the evenings. He seemed to prefer the dark for his violence. Daniel learned quickly enough that he was only safe if he outlasted his foster father. If he fell asleep before Matt did, Matt came charging into Daniel’s room and found some excuse to beat him. Daniel started staying awake longer to avoid a confrontation with Matt. Although school was out, Daniel studied late into the night and sometimes in the early morning. Sleep became a luxury.

At the end of the summer, the Jamesons’ two daughters, Nicole and Alyssa, returned from a vacation with their grandparents and took a shine to their older foster-brother. Daniel told them stories about mythology, helped them with their homework, and cared for them after school while their mother worked and their father drank. At night, the girls crept into Daniel’s bedroom and slept in his bed. He watched over them from his desk. Because he often wrote in his journal, I spent much of my time on the floor beside him.

The courage Daniel could not find for himself, he found for those two girls. When Matt lurched into the bedroom one night, Daniel dropped his journal into me and hurried to put himself between the drunk man and the bed.

“You’re intoxicated, Mr. Jameson,” he said in a firm tone. “You need to get help.” 

“Gonna give my shweeties nitey-nite kishes.”

“No. They’re sleeping. Leave them alone.”

“You worshlesh good-for-nothing! Outta my way.” 

Matt’s backhanded slap caught Daniel by surprise, but Daniel staggered defiantly back into place before Matt could advance on the girls. Blood trickled from Daniel’s split lip.

“Miss Ridge is coming this weekend to check on me. If you touch them, I swear I’ll tell her about you.”

Matt snarled and launched himself at Daniel. I’m sure you can guess what happened next. If there was ever a time I wished I had a set of limbs, that was it. By the time Matt lumbered off to bed, Daniel could barely breathe through his bloodied nose. He crawled to the bathroom and cleaned himself up. When he returned to the bedroom, he gingerly settled next to the oldest Jameson girl and ran his fingers through her hair. Nicole opened her eyes and peered at his battered face.

“Daddy hurt you again,” she whispered.

Daniel shrugged one shoulder and gave a crooked half-smile. “I’m fine. It doesn’t matter.”

Translate that: I don’t matter.

“Why does Daddy hurt people?”

“Because he’s hurting inside and he doesn’t know how to make the hurt go away.”

I was mad enough to spit vinyl, and Daniel was _empathizing_. Sheesh.

“I love you,” Nicole said. She closed her eyes with a soft sigh. “I hope you stay with us forever.”

Daniel continued to stroke her hair. “I love you too, Nikki. But nothing stays forever. Especially not good things.”

Two days later, Miss Ridge arrived to check on Daniel’s situation. She showed up every once in a while, probably trying to get more than monosyllables and shrugs out of Daniel. I doubt she succeeded. Daniel’s personal stuff went into his journals. He didn’t talk about it. This was her first visit to the Jamesons since dropping Daniel off there four months ago.

She came into the bedroom where Daniel was waiting and looked hard at him. Daniel’s temple and chin were bruised. His lip was still a bit puffy. The Scapanellis’ hand-me-downs were tending toward threadbare, and because of a growth spurt over the summer, two inches of Daniel’s thin wrists and ankles poked out of the too-small clothes.

Miss Ridge shook her head and said quietly, “Pack your things, Daniel.”

He fidgeted, avoiding her shrewd gaze.

“Some people just don’t have what it takes to be foster parents.” She sighed. “You know you’re supposed to call me if things get bad. It looks like things got bad, didn’t they?”

He tucked his arms across his chest and didn’t answer. Miss Ridge reached out a hand as if to caress his cheek. He flinched, stepping back from her touch. She gave him a sad smile and set to work packing his clothes into the other suitcase. 

Daniel watched her for a minute and finally blurted out, “What about Nicole and Alyssa? If I go, who takes care of them?”

“Daniel, you’re still a child. A very mature, capable child, yes, but it’s not your job to take care of other children. That’s for us adults. You let me worry about the Jameson girls, okay? I’ll get them some help. But for now, I need to make sure you’re all right. How many of these books are yours?”

A few days later, Daniel slammed into his new bedroom at the Horgans, shoved a newspaper into me, and crashed face-first on his bed to muffle his sobs against the pillows. The newspaper article showed a picture of Matt Jameson, who was facing trial after the murder of his oldest daughter, Nicole. Alyssa was in the hospital in critical condition. Above the article, Daniel had scrawled in large, block letters “MY FAULT.”

#

The foster families after that were better, but it was too little, too late. The coping mechanisms of Daniel’s childhood—the self-hug, always being fine, staying awake at odd hours, flinching from personal contact—became habits of his teen years, and no one could breach the defenses Daniel had set in place to protect himself. None of the families kept Daniel for the long term. If he still believed in Katie’s prediction of a perfect home, he had long since lost hope in it. So had I.

I followed Daniel everywhere, from house to house and finally to college. I was the guardian of the box and the keeper of the journals. I was lovingly protected, despite my age. Although there was the one time I ended up in the rain…

Daniel had just shot his reputation to pieces, trying to share his theories with some of his colleagues in the archaeological community. I don’t know why he did it. Maybe because he believed so passionately that he was right, or maybe because he had nothing left to lose. He had no job, no money, and the landlady at his apartment had evicted him that very morning. Whatever the reason, his talk hadn’t gone well, and the pouring rain seemed to mock the ruin of Daniel’s career.

So while I was getting drenched because the Air Force toughs who were supposed to be taking care of me obviously didn’t think I merited an umbrella, Daniel got into a limo with some old biddy. She had him in her clutches for a few minutes—yes, I’m a little protective of the kid after all these years—and then Daniel stumbled out of the car in a daze. He mumbled to himself as he wandered to the apartment where his friend Robert Rothman had offered to put him up for a couple of days.

Being the natural eavesdropper that I am, I listened to Daniel’s mutterings. “A job. Translating Ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs. What does the Air Force want with hieroglyphs? And why me? They checked me out. Where did she get that photo of Katie? The exact same one I have in my box.” My proverbial ears perked up at that one. The old dame in the limo had just slipped from idle curiosity to noteworthy interest. “But why not my parents? Maybe they didn’t have time to dig deeper. What did she mean? I know I’m right, but a chance to prove it? What proof could she have? I have to see. Whatever it is, I have to see.”

We ended up at a military installation in Colorado. Daniel’s allergies flared. He tried to excuse it as a symptom of traveling, but I knew better. He was scared to death and totally out of his comfort zone. He wanted to be anywhere but where he was.

The stone changed everything.

It was the Holy Grail, the Fountain of Youth, and Shangri La, all rolled into one. When Daniel first saw it, he was mesmerized. I’d seen Daniel in archaeological fervor on student digs, but this was completely different. The stone called to Daniel on a profound level that no one really understood. For weeks, Daniel was a man possessed, driving himself to plumb the stone’s deepest secrets. It absorbed every moment of his time and attention, and even though Daniel complained that he would never solve its mysteries and thus never get paid, I knew the truth.

The stone was Daniel’s destiny. More, it was the path to his perfect home.

Don’t ask me how I knew. I never went for that mumbo-jumbo before, but it was as if Katie’s Sight had infected me. I knew it as well as I knew every stitch of my interior lining. I wasn’t the least bit surprised when he figured out what the stone meant.

Nor was I surprised when he decided to take me with him—wherever it was we were going. I mean, come on, who else would have gone along on such a crazy ride? Did I say crazy? I meant suicidal. Freaking insane.

Daniel took most of his precious items out of me, tucking his photos and most of his journals into the carryall that held what little clothing he owned. Then he tossed into me several research books about Ancient Egypt and a couple of Fifth Avenue candy bars, which seemed to be his most recent dietary staple. Maybe that’s all they had in the vending machines. Catherine—the old biddy from the limo—came by to visit him while he was packing me. She had the strangest look on her face. Like she wasn’t sure if she’d ever see him again.

Awhile later, I found out why. I was thrown up on a flat vehicle, along with several cases of military gear, which grunted unhelpfully when I asked them what was going on. Then our vehicle was wheeled up a ramp by remote control, and I got my first glimpse of insanity. If I’d had a heart, it would have stopped.

The stone Daniel had translated was obviously a practice run for the real thing. The Stargate belonged on a scale by itself. Like an eighth wonder of the world. It was the stone magnified by a thousand. The center of it shimmered and undulated like the surface of a pool of water, except the pool had been turned sideways. And we were heading right toward it.

No. Freaking. Way.

Ever wondered what an onion feels like when it’s stuck in a blender and ground into teeny, tiny bits? Yeah, me neither. Now I know. The Stargate whipped us through the blender and spit us out on the other side. I was emotionally traumatized for life and extremely lucky to be in one piece.

Things went downhill from there. Literally. We were on a different planet with no way home because Daniel couldn’t find the writings he expected on the other side. I thought O’Neill, the colonel in charge of the mission, was going to rip Daniel’s head off when he admitted he couldn’t make the Stargate work for the return home. O’Neill’s buddies were also less than thrilled, to put it mildly, and expressed their annoyance by reverting to childish bullying. One of them threw me, Daniel ducked to avoid being hit, and I plunged down a sand dune. You see? I get no respect whatsoever. Sheesh. Weakened by the trip through the Stargate, my latches came unlocked, and all of Daniel’s books, his journal, and several candy bars tumbled out. 

I’m not sure what happened next. Something further down the hill distracted Daniel while he was gathering his books, and that was the last time I saw him on the planet of Abydos. One of the military goons must have felt guilty because he rescued Daniel’s books after that, putting them into a sturdy container. I got dumped among the other military cases, who were really the most boring bunch in the world. They had no interest in anything around them. First, there was this sandstorm, see? The soldiers responsible for us took off for the nearest shelter, leaving us to the mercy of the elements. Later, these kids in dusty robes rummaged through us and collected all the weapons. And the explosions! Don’t get me start on the explosions! I was quietly gibbering with terror and the military cases were discussing gun specs like the world wasn’t coming to an end around us.

Obviously, the world didn’t end since I’m still here. Eventually I got loaded up on the flat vehicle and shot back through the Stargate. Somebody must have figured out how to make it work. My bet was on Daniel. It was a relief, let me tell you. I felt as if I’d be dribbling sand out of unmentionable places for weeks to come.

I didn’t know where Daniel was. They tossed me into the room where Daniel had deciphered the stone’s secrets, and I gossiped about my adventure with his carryall. I broke off my excited ramble when Catherine staggered into the room and slumped into a desk chair. Silent tears spilled down her cheeks. I began to get a really bad feeling.

Then Colonel O’Neill showed up. He sank to one knee in front of her. She swiped at her tears, and when she was done, he reached out and clasped her hand.

“General West told me about Daniel,” she whispered brokenly.

Oh. no. No. No. No.

O’Neill glanced around, as if making certain they were alone. Then he tipped her palm upward and pressed a necklace into it. “He’s still alive, Catherine,” O’Neill said quietly. “He sent this back for you. Said it brought him luck.”

Sheesh, it’s a good thing I don’t have a heart because the sensation of utter relief would have killed me right then.

Catherine didn’t look much better than I felt. “But General West—he said you and your men--”

O’Neill squeezed her hand. “It’s better that the government doesn’t know the whole truth. Better for the people on Abydos. Better for Daniel. He wanted to stay.”

“Why?”

Honestly, she was asking the wrong person. I could have told her. Daniel had nothing on Earth, nothing to lose and nothing to live for. Maybe he hadn’t found his perfect home here because he’d been on the wrong planet.

O’Neill’s eyes sparkled with good humor. “Are you kidding? It’s an archaeological paradise. A language no one’s spoken for millions of years, ruins no one’s ever seen, hieroglyphs no one’s ever read. And then there’s the whole matter of the wife.”

“Wife?” Catherine gasped. Huh. My thoughts exactly. What wife?!

O’Neill laughed, and the sound from the formerly-aloof colonel startled all of us. “Come on. I’ll tell you about it over lunch. My treat. I’m dying for food I can actually recognize that doesn’t taste like chicken.”

Just my luck. O’Neill didn’t take me into the restaurant, so I never heard the wife story.

#

The carryall and I spent the next year with Jack. Jack had stuck all the left-behind possessions into me, so I was once again the guardian of the photos and journals. Yeah, I started thinking of him as “Jack” instead of “O’Neill.” I was living in the guy’s spare room, for crying out loud. He’d made a rotten first impression, but he turned out not to be a bad sort. Sometimes he’d wander into the room, open the closet where we were stored, and just stare at us. Remembering that whole crazy trip, maybe.

Even though he never expected to see Daniel again, Jack kept the kid’s things safe and respected his privacy, never once opening the journals. That meant something.

Then the unexpected happened. Daniel came back.

I heard him before I saw him. He was babbling nervously, something about stellar drift and cartouches and Stargates. Jack hauled me out of the closet and plopped me onto the bed, followed a moment later by the carryall. Daniel stopped in mid-word, staring.

I had a good look at him. He wore a drab, too-large military uniform as if it chafed his skin. Exposure to the wind and sun of the Abydos desert had tanned and roughened his skin. But it was his eyes that told me everything I needed to know. I had seen those same shadows after he learned of Nicole Jameson’s death. If he had found his perfect home, then he’d also lost it and blamed himself.

“You—you kept my stuff.” Daniel’s voice was filled with wonder. He expected to find good in people when that empathy of his kicked in, but it never ceased to amaze him when that good was directed back at him.

Jack shrugged. “I had some room.”

Ha. I happened to know he’d moved three crates of National Geographic magazines out to the garage to make room for us.

Daniel opened me with his usual patience—I’d stiffened up over the year, and my latches had never quite recovered from the trips through the Stargate. When he saw the journals and the box with his photos, he blinked rapidly. He reached out and traced the spine of one journal.

“Thanks, Jack. This is…” He swallowed and finished softly, “Thanks.”

“No problem. Come on, let’s get a couple beers and you can tell me all about Abydos.”

“I, uh—sure. Okay.”

“Sweet.”

Jack’s hand settled on Daniel’s shoulder. Daniel stiffened but caught himself before he flinched outright. I think Jack noticed Daniel’s discomfort. I really do. But Jack ignored it. He held on, his fingers gently massaging. Daniel stood like a wild animal poised to flee.

“In case I never mentioned it before, I missed you,” Jack said.

The tension drained out of Daniel. He gave one of his half-smiles. “Yeah, me too. I mean, I missed you. And—and Earth, obviously. Showers. Coffee.” Daniel’s smile widened a notch. “Kleenex.”

Jack’s mouth twitched into an answering grin. “Yeah.”

Meanwhile, I was watching Jack’s hand. Jack’s very sneaky hand. It had crept from Daniel’s shoulder to the back of his neck. The move was so subtle that Daniel hadn’t even noticed it.

“Thai food,” Daniel continued, warming to his subject. “Books. Chocolate.”

“Fishing. Hockey. Simpsons. Beer.”

“Huh? What?”

Jack burst out laughing at the baffled expression on Daniel’s face. His hand—the sneaky one—swept upward and ruffled Daniel’s hair. The way Katie O’Donnell used to. My hinges began to tingle.

“Your education has been sadly neglected, Doctor Jackson. We’ll start with the beer. Come on.”

With his hand on Daniel’s neck, Jack nudged Daniel toward the door. Daniel took a few steps, still strangely oblivious to the infiltration into his personal space, and then stopped.

“Jack, if Sha’re—if we don’t—I’ll find a place.”

“Don’t be an ass, Daniel. You can stay as long as you want. The spare room’s yours. And when we find Sha’re, you can bring her here too. Though we’ll have to get you guys a bigger bed.”

“No, no. I’ll be fine somewhere else. I don’t want to intrude.”

Jack sighed heavily and used the leverage of his sneaky hand to swing Daniel around, face-to-face with him. “I’m only gonna say this once, so hear me out. I wasn’t coming back from that mission, Daniel. You saved my life. Twice. As far as I’m concerned, that makes you family. It’s not an intrusion. You’re home, okay?”

Daniel gulped. “Fa-family?”

I wondered if he could hear the echoes of Katie’s long-ago prophecy. A family who loves you. A perfect home. My hinges felt like they were going to pop.

Jack gave Daniel’s hair another ruffle. “That’s right. Welcome home, Dannyboy.”

Somewhere in New York, Katie O’Donnell was smiling. I was sure of it.


End file.
